For 16 years I had no relationship with my father, a devoted Scientologist. When he died, I realized just how little I knew about him — and he about me.
Uncle Billy, the father figure in my life, came back from prison broken and distant. And before long, he was dead — leaving me to wrestle with his complicated legacy.
Just over a year after my mom died, my boyfriend of three years walked out — carrying his deodorant and phone charger. And then, I was grieving all over again.
At my daughters' concerts and school performances, I see all the happy grandparents, snapping photos and bearing flowers. That's when I feel my own mother's loss most acutely.